"I hear you quite plainly, Malmaison; and I wouldn't exert myself so much if I were you--you know what the doctor said. As for Miss Battledown, surely she has a right to marry whom she pleases, hasn't she?" "No, she has not!" returned the baronet, getting angrier than ever. "She belongs to my Archibald; and if any scoundrel--" "Really, you are intolerable, Sir Clarence," interrupted Pennroyal, still smiling, but not a pleasant smile. "A man whose temper is faulty at the best of times should be more careful to avoid whatever tends to make it worse;" and as Pennroyal said this he glanced significantly at the decanter--of which, to do him justice, he was very sparing himself. "Pennroyal!" said the old baronet, drawing himself up with a good deal of dignity, "your father and I were friends before you were born, and you're my brother-in-law; but if you were not sitting at my table, I'd teach you better manners than to lecture your elders. I said I should like to see the scoundrel who would dare to marry Kate Battledown--and--and what is that to you?" "Well, it's just this," returned Pennroyal, quietly; "I'm going to marry her myself!" Sir Clarence started up from his chair with a tremendous oath--and sat down again. He was putting a terrible restraint upon himself. Not for his life would he outrage the guest who was beneath his roof. His face became dark red, and the veins on his forehead and in his neck stood out and throbbed visibly. His eyes were fixed staringly upon the impassable visage of the Honorable Richard, and he drew his breath with difficulty. There was a pause of some duration, broken only by this stertorous breathing, and by the deliberate cracking of the guest's filberts. At last, with a tragic effort of courtesy that was almost grotesque, the poor gentleman pushed the decanter toward his brother-in-law and deadly enemy, accompanying the act by a rattling sound in the throat, probably intended as an invitation to help himself. But the struggle was too severe. The next moment the baronet's eyes rolled wildly, a gasping noise broke from him, and he fell forward with his head on the table. Mr. Pennroyal promptly arose and rang the bell. "Send for the doctor at once," he said to the servant who appeared. "Sir Clarence has overdrunk himself, or overeaten himself, I fancy. And help me to put him on the sofa and loosen his neckcloth. There--very distressing. Apply the usual remedies, while I step up-stairs and speak to Lady Malmaison."